Page 88 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin

Evie blushed and huffed, complaining that he should not be saying that in the presence of Phoebe and Ethan.

Daniel merely smirked and looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“Do keep me out of your arguments,” Ethan pleaded as he casually draped his arm over the back of Phoebe’s seat. “As I recall, I was promised I would watch this opera in peace.”

Phoebe turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that your only reason, then?”

“Well, no,” he admitted with a cheerful grin. “Someone sent me a note this morning, and I have no intention of offending this esteemed personage. Besides…” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer to her ear. “I was wondering if you liked the gown I had Madame Delacroix make for you.”

Phoebe suppressed the slight shudder that danced down her spine as his warm breath fanned her ear and the side of her neck.

“Do you like what I have done to it, though?” she purred. She coyly traced the adjusted neckline with a finger, watching with satisfaction as his eyes darkened with desire.

Well then, two can play this game.I can be every bit as much of a tease as well!

“Oh, very much,” he averred, his lips grazing her ear. “But I would vastly prefer it off of you, sweetheart.”

The last bit was said so softly, for her ears only.

Phoebe felt her cheeks—and the rest of her—heating up at the suggestion, just as the orchestra by the stage struck up the first few strains of the opera.

“Rogue,” she muttered under her breath, although it held none of the rancor it should have. “Well, I hope you would at least allow me to enjoy this opera in peace.”

She tore her gaze away from him and turned back to the stage just as the curtains started to open.

She would have found the entire show entertaining, too, if her dearhusbandhad not been leaning back in his chair, his arm slung casually over the back of hers, his fingers toying with the golden curls coiled elaborately at her nape.

Alas, every nerve ending in her body was only made dreadfully aware of his blatant masculinity, so much so that it became increasingly hard for her to focus on the performance at all.

It was not until the crowd erupted in appreciative applause that she finally realized that the show was over, just in time to catch the opera singer casting a longing glance in the direction of their box and winking.

A strange rage Phoebe had never felt before simmered in her chest.

“One of your conquests, Your Grace?” she asked Ethan with an arched eyebrow.

His reply was a teasing smirk. “Jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous of an opera singer?” she scoffed.

“Indeed,” he murmured huskily in her ear. “I did not even notice who you were referring to, sweetheart. There is no one here but you.”

And you.

“What a skilled liar you are,” she remarked with a roll of her eyes. “And do not call me that ever again.”

“Call you what?”

“Sweetheart.”

“No?” He frowned. “Why not?”

“You probably call everyone that,” she told him acidly. “Just so you do not end up confused and calling me by another woman’s name.”

“Ah… I see.”

But he did notsee,and Phoebe was getting tired of these little games, wondering if he truly cared for her as much as she was beginning to care for him.

Perhaps to him, this was all nothing more than a game.

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